salt

I've seen a saying about how salt cures everything, whether from tears, the sea, or salt-rimmed Margaritas. We all need salt to survive, to make our neurons fire. I think the salt that cures the most for me goes in my body on my french fries and comes out as sweat while I run. If I sweat enough I figure there won't be anything left for tears.

Cut my hair again trying to give those curls some bounce.

I apologize for the lengthy lapse in posts. The juggle of school, work, and my heart has left me sleep-deprived and frantic most days. Gratefully, I finally got back out for a run after being sidelined for several weeks since the unpleasant incident between my knee and the sidewalk. Four little miles this past Saturday and I was sore for 36 hours. I hate having to start back over, but I know I can get back in my running groove if only I drag myself out of bed and head out there. The payoff in mental health and getting trim will be worth the pain; I just have to keep reminding myself that when my warm bed doesn't want me to go.

School. It's one of the very few things I happen to be good at. I agonize over every quiz and test, belly-ache that I haven't studied enough and will tank my grade, and more often than not still manage to get an A. Thus, the sympathy seems to run thin for my plight when I have procrastinated my studying and homework to the bitter end. I'm something of a test-taking machine, though I did do poorly on my second test in Anatomy & Physiology--a 79%. Ugh; I do not believe in getting Cs, in being "average." But it was a lesson learned that I needed to read more than one of the three chapters we were being tested on. I got one more lackluster B in A&P but have otherwise pulled off As for six of eight tests thus far. Why must I have an A in the class? No scholarships or graduation requirements turn on it. I just need passing grades in my 29 credits for the Massage Therapy certificate program and I can sit for the licensing exams. But over the years I have kept up a streak of straight-As in community college courses so now it's become a "thing" that I can't let go. So if I tank the last exam in A&P and get a--gasp!--B in the course, the sky will probably not fall and angels will probably not lose their wings, but somehow I will be a failure in my heart of hearts. When I am critical of others I really do feel awful; I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I try so hard to stop expecting perfection everywhere. Yet I keep expecting it, never finding it, never achieving it. I guess I need to cut myself a little slack, too, because I seem to klutzily fall off my own pedestal about a thousand times a day.

A big chunk of our exams is identifying parts on models.

Anatomy and Physiology is challenging. Academically, Swedish Massage is far easier. But the challenge in massage is learning the techniques and the mental grounding, more than in learning muscles and their actions. Ironically, the part of the massage classes that most people like best--giving and getting a massage each class in lab--is the part I dread. It has become rote at this point in the term but the bigger stressor for me and many girls in the class is the one creeper guy none of us wants to work with. My fingers are crossed that he finally dropped the class yesterday--the deadline to do so without a bad grade wrecking his GPA. I think after 12 weeks of class he could probably only identify one muscle: the gluteus maximus on which he seems quite focused. I had to work on him once, but at this point I will flat-out refuse to work with him again. He's failing the class, can't perform a professional health screen (asking girls if they've had any "recent pregnancies" rather than if they are currently pregnant and even asking one girl if she'd had any recent plastic surgeries). But beyond his simply dangerously not knowing what the hell he is doing and being incapable of acting professionally, he is one of those guys that just gives you the creeper vibe. No girl is going to talk to this guy at a bar much less pay him to massage her. The whole idea is preposterous but the school has no balls to give him the boot. I can't imagine he passes and makes it into Deep Tissue, but if he does, I will likely leave the program and transfer my credits elsewhere. This girl has a strong self-preservation instinct and is tired of letting schmuck creeps get a pass when they need to be called out and shamed. So, that's school. Not my favorite place to be these days, unfortunately.

Yep, this happened. I did the makeup. Note the little skull barrettes, so adorable.

I've been cooking and baking often now that I have someone to cook for. The surfer loves my cooking, or at least tells me so. He's not what I expected but probably exactly what I needed. He makes me laugh and smile, serenades me, and holds me tight. And perhaps what I need most of all, he lets me take care of him and he takes care of me. This past nine-and-a-half-weeks has had its challenges, but I think we came out the other side stronger than we started. I could dish all sorts of sweet nothings and challenges, but as I said before, I don't ever want him to feel he'll be dissected here, so I'll keep it sparse for the time being. But I'll leave you with this: Good cooks know that salt is a critical ingredient to bring out the flavor in a dish. It doesn't change the flavor, but it opens up your taste buds and lets the meal blossom. This guy, he's like just the right sprinkling of salt that brings out the best in me and makes life taste just that much more satisfying.